Worst Ways to Die (Pain)

1. falling into vat of sulfuric acid

2. falling from an airplane

3. eaten by large carnivorous animal

The Once and Future Hermit.

Nearing double-digits and realizing not just childhood is coming to a close.
This isn't some whiny self-indulgent diary entry. I seem to be entering a modern day King Midas syndrome, except for everything I place my interest in fades away to nothing. And the best part, ladies and gents? Although I grumble, I couldn't give a damn.

Exhibit A (and A1): my intended profession/ current major of print journalism, and the media in general.
Print Media is going the way of vinyl. Its demise could be seen on the horizon, but after taking several classes introducing me to my field of interest, it feels like I'm taking classes (and wasting thousands) to become a Latin translator. Society is falling apart, and taking newspapers with it. It's not just newspapers however, it's other resources as well. My favorite snark outlet has been thrown to the wayside as of late, concentrating on celebritards and gossip sans the intellect.
Books, perhaps my sole source of continued enjoyment and escape, are being published online. Of course. A computer screen accentuated by fluorescent lighting truly evokes one's imagination, doesn't it?

Alas, it appears I am nothing but a grumpy old man trapped in a fast-paced modern society. I like my whiskey, classics written by dead males, music by the now wrinkled/deceased, and find an increasing amount of argyle and cardigans in my wardrobe. New-fangled kids and their gadgets annoy me, and my favorite films are being replaced on AMC by movies such as "Death Wish Three".

Nuclear war? As long as the ruffians stay off my porch, I'll sip my jack and coke peacefully while winning at scrabble with the other cynical bastards who I plan to associate with.


No nuclear war? Norway.


....but more about that later.

Bring on the End. or at least a new beginning.

After a lengthy discussion with another rare pessimistic yet highly hopeful philosopher, several conclusions have come to light in the time that this particular pseudo-ephiphany should occur. How unique. A distracted college student developing ideas on existence, when said existence consists of no real responsibility and endless information at a second's disposal. But I digress. Life, as I have come to learn, is merely a series of aggravating patterns that one cannot escape.




People do not change, they just learn how to disguise and suppress individual instincts; molding ourselves to whatever it is we hold as the ideal at that moment. Every year (usually around winter, though I would not dare deign to live anywhere but the Northeast where the weather resembles my skiddish personalities), I enter a new phase of solitude and thought. As far back as my memory allows, I have dealt with an annoying trend of self-behavior that I deem the "loner-complex", which is basically a no -win paradox of increased misanthropism. I am afraid of people and avoid them at all costs, yet at the same time cannot stand to be away from them. One would think that my multiple personalties would keep me more than enough company. This idiotic conundrum, alarmingly enough, happens to a great deal of people. These are the people I choose to associate with, constructing an army of frustration whose insanity is so great, any apocalypse should writhe in sheer fright.

A great man once proclaimed that if you wish to know the true character of a man, look at the company he keeps. I made that up, but a quote out there does exist, and I will not feign intelligence of it by looking it up on Google. Keeping this tidbit in mind, I analyze my friends, and social circle.